You’re running on fumes in the morning and by dinnertime the thoughts can’t breathe. This game is all about the consistency of one or two senses at a time while the others rest up. Any man worth half a bucket of piss can conjure up enough of it to at least act like the voices and attitudes aren’t making things worse. What the hell do they know?Â
Go to bed early.Â
Walk over to the pencil sharperner and somehow get your head to fit through that hole. Â